


You Don't Have To Be

by hadesandziggy



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Mentioned Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Talk of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 13:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hadesandziggy/pseuds/hadesandziggy
Summary: Eli tries to reassure you that you don't have to be sorry for taking a blade to your skin.





	You Don't Have To Be

Eli had been out doing an interview for a fairly big television show, meaning that he had been out all day, leaving you home alone; for the most part of the day, you busied yourself with doing chores and tidying up the house, as well as doing a bit of work on your laptop here and there - more or less just to keep your mind busy and to waste time until he came home. As time trickled by, you wound up sat in the living room, watching meaningless television; you weren’t sure how long you were sat there, but a quick look at the clock told you it was incredibly early in the morning. Slowly, you rose up from your seat before darting upstairs and grabbing the safety razor, clutching it in calm hands as you ran down into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter; you leaned down a little to open the drawer and pulled out the dull, blunt, scissors and the tweezers - you took the blades out of the razor, tossing what you didn’t want into the bin before putting the scissors and tweezers back into the drawer and slamming it shut. Looking at the glittering razor, you swallowed thickly, hesitating for a second before rolling your sleeve up and exposing your wrist; you slashed the razor across it, a sting you had not felt in months searing through your veins and causing you to sigh with relief when the blood started to spot and to trickle. You kept doing it until there was no more room on your wrist, and quickly ran your skin under the tap, letting the blood dye the cold water a slight red-orange colour as it went down the drain; when you were sure that your wounds were cleaned, you went digging into the medicine cabinet until you found the three rolls of bandages that were tucked and hidden away - your hands were shaking so much that you ruined two before finally getting the third one somewhat decently covering and protecting your slashed, bloodied, skin. You knew you were shaking violently, and you could feel your heart hammering away inside your chest as you started to hyperventilate. Slowly, you got back up onto the counter, and sat there for a moment before reaching over to your cigarette papers, filters and tobacco; you rolled yourself a smoke before lighting it and taking a long, deep, drag. What had you done? 

You couldn’t even register your own thought process before Eli walked in, sighing and shrugging his jacket off before making his way into the kitchen; when he saw the state of your wrist, the bandage upon it that was secured by a small bit that went around your knuckles, he stopped dead in his tracks and gawked at you. 

“Baby…” his voice was filled with woe and worry as he quickly came to stand in front of you, grabbing your wrist incredibly gently so he could take a good look at the bandages, parts of it were an incredibly light shade of red. “Baby, what did you do?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to blink back the tears as you looked into his big brown eyes, hoping to God and the Devil that he wasn’t disappointed or angry in what you had done to yourself, you knew he could feel your trembling as you looked at him. “I’m so, so, sorry, Eli…” your voice cracked and wavered, the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you shook your head. “I’m so, so, sorry. I, I don’t know what happened, I just-” you didn’t want to say the words, but you knew you had to, so you hanged your head in shame and hoped he didn’t hear your meek, miserable, mumbling voice. “I relapsed…” 

You winced, expecting Eli to yell and scream and throw something - but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at you with nothing but worry and a slight tint of confusion in his eyes. He nodded slowly, solemnly, and sighed. “It’s okay, baby.” He gently pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. “It’s okay to relapse. You’re going to be okay. I got you. We’ll get through this, promise.” 

“It was six months,” you cried against his chest, clinging onto him tightly with your left arm but laying your right one, your wounded arm, on your lap. “Six months, fucking wasted, all because I couldn’t fucking-”

He shushed you softly, shaking his head. “Look at me,” gently, he tilted your head up so that you were looking him directly in the eyes. “Baby girl, you’re so fucking strong, and amazing, and brave. You went six months without relapsing - that’s the most you’ve ever gone, and I’m fucking proud of you, even if you did falter a little bit tonight. I’m fucking proud of you, and I love you, and we’re gonna get through this, one little step at a time.” 

You nodded, taking in a little breath and trying your best not to tremble even more. “O-okay. Ok-okay.” 

A small smile came upon Eli’s lips, it was dulled by sadness but it was nonetheless a smile; slowly, he pulled away, and held your forearms incredibly softly, fingertips rubbing into your skin so gently you couldn’t help but to lean into his touch. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water, and then we’ll go in the living room, and we’ll watch whatever the fuck you want - okay?” 

Again, you nodded, watching with teary eyes as he went and got a glass; you kept your eyes on him as he filled it up with water before putting some ice in it and handing it to you. “Thank you…” 

He shook his head, kissing your temple sweetly. “It’s fine, come on.” He helped you get down from the counter, not wanting you to hurt your wrist even further, and walked into the living room with you; while Eli laid down on the sofa, you placed your glass on the mantelpiece and grabbed the blanket from the chair in the corner before joining him. You laid with your head on his chest, your body on top of his and your wounded arm draped over the side, hanging off and nearly gracing the laminate floors. Grabbing the television remote, Eli hummed, looking down at you fondly and resting his free hand on your lower back. “What do you wanna watch, baby?”

You shrugged. “Could we watch Reservoir Dogs?” 

He tried not to smile as he nodded and flicked Netflix on, it took hardly any time for him to find the film before he pressed play and helped you to drape the blanket over your bodies. “Y’know, that’s a damn good choice.” 

You wanted to smile and even chuckle at his comment, but you didn’t have the energy to do so as you focused half on the film and half on his breathing; the rise and fall of his chest was extremely helpful in helping you to get your breathing back to normal as well as stopping your shaking. You felt safe, wrapped in his arms, snuggled up and warm and protected; you felt guilty for putting him through such an ordeal, but he had been there for times worse than that, he had been there when you had slashed the blade down your wrist as opposed to across it, which made you feel even more guilty. 

Clearing your throat a little, you squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to see the look on his face for what you were about to say. “I know I’m fucked up, in the head… like, really, really, fucked up, but… if you wanna leave, I’m not gonna hold it against you, I mean-”

Immediately, Eli was quick to catch your drift as he shook his head. “Baby, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m not gonna leave you. Just because you fuck up sometimes doesn’t mean I’m gonna fucking give up and walk away. I love you, (y/n), nothing changes that.” 

“I know, but-”

“Listen to me,” his voice was quieter, but nonetheless sincere. “I love you. And I fucking know I can’t fix your head, but… I like to think that I can help, even if that means just fucking being here when you relapse. Even if that means driving you to the hospital because you slashed your wrists. Baby, no matter what, I’m here for you, and I’m gonna help you when you need and want me to. I’m not fucking leaving you.” 

His words felt like they were stitching up your heart, temporarily fixing the brokenness of it and gluing together the shattered pieces for a while; they made you smile faintly as you opened your eyes again and nodded, placing a sweet kiss to his collarbone and sighing. “I’m just so, so, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be.” He told you quietly, running his hand through your hair soothingly. “Baby, you don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I love you,” you whispered, hardly audible but even still, Eli heard it. 

“I love you, too.” 


End file.
